


Something Special

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst in Chapter 4, Arthur-centric, Communication Failure, Fluff in Chapter 3, I promise, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, but FYI, fluffy fluffiness, just in case, not graphic, oblique reference to torture in chapter 2, very very oblique
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That first job with Eames is Arthur’s twelfth, and it’s the first time Arthur’s ever heard the word Forger. Eames is twenty, full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the whole world with a sparkling smile and glint in his eye. Arthur hates him immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finders, Keepers

Everyone is born with a mark on their skin, a symbol of something significant to their soulmate. It could be anything from a word to a number to a shape. The difficulty is determining what the mark means, and Arthur thinks that’s the stupidest part of this whole “soulmate” thing. How many people actually find their soulmates when all they have to go on is something as insignificant as what amounts to a birthmark?

Arthur’s is really ridiculous. It’s…well, it’s so ridiculous Arthur knows that even if he manages to figure out who his soulmate is – and why on earth this _thing_ is so special to him – he’ll be so horrendously _ridiculous_ that Arthur wouldn’t be able to like him if he tried. 

But that’s fine. Arthur’s spent the last twenty-three years of his life in solitude. He could really care less if he spends the next thirty or forty or fifty in the same way.

So Arthur forgets about the sign etched on his skin and focuses on his work. He focuses on researching his marks, guarding the rest of the extraction team, and controlling everything he possibly can – and in a dream, that list is very long. If stupid Fate thinks it can decide whom he’ll love, then Arthur will control everything else in his life: his clothes, his hair, his persona, and his friends – or, friend, really. Cobb is actually more of an acquaintance, if anything, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except control.

Which is why Eames infuriates him. Eames, who seems to put no thought whatsoever into his outfits but still somehow manages to look good. Eames, who knows enough to be the best Forger in the business, who knows enough to research people, to _understand_ people, and to imitate them flawlessly, who knows exactly how humanity works, and is able to hide it all behind the veneer of a comedian and unlucky gambler. Eames, who is everything Arthur isn’t and who is everything Arthur secretly wishes he could be.

Arthur can’t control Eames. He can’t control anything that the obnoxious Forger does, so he ignores him instead. Arthur’s good at compartmentalizing like that. Any time he’s on a job with Eames – which is more often than not, since Arthur is always sought after for the more complicated jobs, and Forgers are almost always a necessity for those types – Arthur combats Eames’ easy complacency with an iron-studded grip on his self-control. 

Arthur’s never seen Eames’ soulmate sign, and it’s not for lack of looking. Whatever it is, he feels sorry for the poor sod who’s destined to be stuck with him forever.

“Arthur, darling, did you know you’re making faces at your paperwork right now?”

Arthur sighs and rubs the engraving on his favorite pen from Milan. Maybe he’ll just kill Eames now and save himself – and Eames’ soulmate – from any future pain.

~+~+~

The first time he meets Eames, Arthur has just turned eighteen and is still trying to make a name for himself. Cobb was the only one willing to trust an untrained dreamer – Arthur has made sure that no one can possibly unearth his stint in the military’s Project Somnacin, since the M.P.s are, as far as he knows, still looking for him since he went A.W.O.L. in an escape involving a munitions hold, explosives, and, according to some rumors, a helicopter – so Arthur spent his first two years in dream-share working with Dom Cobb and his lovely wife, Mal.

That first job with Eames is Arthur’s twelfth, and it’s the first time Arthur’s ever heard the word Forger. Eames is twenty, full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the whole world with a sparkling smile and glint in his eye. Arthur hates him immediately.

Arthur’s already established his position as Point Man in the Cobb team, so he gets straight to work researching their mark. Eames, it seems, only sits around and thinks of ways to annoy Arthur. Arthur steadfastly ignores him and all his actions – even that disgusting paper ball covered in gum and paperclips that Eames lobs at his head.

The job manages to run smoothly, and Arthur is somewhat pleasantly surprised when Eames’ forge is immaculate. He has not yet learned that Eames works just as hard as Arthur; he only hides it better.

~+~+~

Their paths cross on various jobs over the next five years. Eames continues to aggravate Arthur, both purposefully and not. Arthur gets better at putting Eames in a mental box. Eames gets better at cracking that box wide open. They bicker endlessly during the planning stages, but they’re almost preternaturally in sync when they’re under. Arthur doesn’t dwell on it. He tries not to dwell on anything involving Eames.

~+~+~

When Cobb accepts the Inception job, Arthur very seriously considers killing him, or at the very least making it so that Cobb ends up out of the picture. Permanently. He actually wastes a whole night of planning before he decides his time’s better spent trying to make sure they all survive after the job fails. He wonders if his favorite pen’s engraving will have given way to smoothness by the end of this job.

The instant Cobb says he needs Eames, Arthur goes cold. He knows what Cobb is thinking, but that doesn’t mean he agrees with him. Unfortunately, having a Forger may be the only thing that saves this job, not that Arthur would ever tell Eames that.

So he lets Cobb go to Mombasa, lets him put himself in immediate danger, and lets him bring Eames back to encroach on Arthur’s space.

And while Cobb is gone, and Arthur is alone, Arthur lets himself think, for just a precious minute, about Eames. He thinks about his accent, the indolent slouch of his shoulders, his smile. He lets himself wonder. Then he carefully puts it all back in his box, and padlocks it for good measure.

Then, he gets back to work.

~+~+~

Eames arrives at the warehouse with his usual flurry of color and charm. Ariadne is spellbound, and for some reason Arthur hates it. He doesn’t know why. He ought to be used to it by now, Eames flirting with every breathing thing, but he isn’t. And he doesn’t know why. He rubs his pen.

Arthur finds himself nitpicking more often than usual, and Eames gives as good as he gets. There’s something in the air between them, Arthur notices, but he doesn’t know humans like Eames does, doesn’t understand anything to do with them, least of all himself. So he does what he always does. He puts it in a box. And he forgets about it.

~+~+~

They run more jobs together after Fischer. They bicker up top and read each other’s minds below. That something is still in the air, but Arthur still doesn’t know what it is. He adds each job to his Eames box and locks it away.

~+~+~

When Arthur dreams for work, he creates sleek cities with right angles, perfectly stable, perfectly symmetrical, perfectly paradoxical. When Arthur dreams for Arthur, he creates old, warm libraries and dusty archives, rooms to hold his boxes and keep them neat and orderly. If he’s relaxed, he’ll let a shelf in the room slip into chaos that he cannot be bothered to reorganize. If he’s tired, the shelf will expand into a corner. If he’s exhausted, Eames is there, sitting on top of the mess, laughing and calling Arthur "darling" with that twinkle in his eye.

Arthur tries so very hard to make sure he is rarely exhausted.

~+~+~

On his twenty-fourth birthday, Arthur accepts a job from an old friend. He figures it beats sitting in his boring, immaculate apartment wondering if he should be doing the things normal humans do, like buying a cake and making wishes. He’s packed and boarding the plane in record time, and when he lands, because of the time zone differences, it’s still his birthday. Not that anyone else in dream-share knows that. He’s been very careful to keep that information secret.

Unsurprisingly, Eames is part of the team. Arthur sits down and prepares to ignore him, but Eames comes up behind him and whispers, “Happy Birthday,” in his ear, and then Arthur can’t fully concentrate for the rest of the job. He really hates Eames. Especially when, while they’re under, Arthur realizes he missed a small but vital piece of information, and Eames saves the day with a split-second Forge. Especially then.

~+~+~

During their next job together, Eames is shot in the first level. It’s just a graze, but Arthur insists he looks at it, because Eames is supposed to build the second level, and Arthur doesn’t want to take any chances. Eames calmly agrees and strips off his shirt, and that’s when Arthur sees it. Right between his shoulder blades, running straight down Eames’ spine, is Arthur’s favorite pen, engraving and all. Arthur swallows, adds the image to his box, and quickly bandages Eames’ arm.

~+~+~

Eames is Arthur’s soulmate. Of course Fate would put the world's most controlling with the universe's most wild. Arthur's box is now covered in chains, padlocks, keypads, and scanners. But things still slip out when Arthur isn't looking.

They're usually little things, like the way the light catches on Eames' grin, or the soft curl to his voice when he says "Arthur" or, as is the case more and more often, "darling." But sometimes bigger things slip out, things Arthur imagines or believes. Arthur doesn't think about those things.

~+~+~

Now that Arthur knows Eames is his soulmate, he tries to figure out how the image on his skin is special to Eames. It shouldn't be difficult, Arthur thinks. He's the best Point Man in dream-share.

It's impossibly difficult.

~+~+~

On their next job, Eames finds Arthur’s mark.

~+~+~

It’s something ridiculous, and Arthur curses himself for being so stupid. They’re under, waiting for the extractor to get his act together so they can put the mark under again, and Eames suggests they walk around to get a better feel for the dreamscape. Arthur frowns but agrees, and they wander through the city their architect created.

They’re ambushed by militarized projections ten minutes in, and Arthur hates himself for, once again, missing that important piece of information. He and Eames shoot their way out and race back to the small coffee shop where they’re supposed to wait for the others. It isn’t until they’re safe inside that Arthur feels the pain.

He hisses as he sits up straight and notices the small patch of red on his shirt. Eames looks over and his eyes widen. Quicker than Arthur can react, Eames rips off Arthur’s shirt and tears it to shreds.

“What are you doing?” Arthur shouts, because dream or not, Arthur has lines that you do not cross, and Arthur’s clothing is a big one.

“Helping you,” Eames mutters. He glances up at Arthur, then freezes.

“What?” Arthur snaps, grabbing a shred of his once-pristine shirt and wrapping it around his torso. He stops and looks up when Eames is suspiciously silent. “Eames? Something wrong?”

Eames is ghostly pale. “Where did you get that?” he asks, pointing at Arthur’s chest.

Arthur really, really hates himself. Loathes is a better word, actually. Because he is the biggest idiot in the world for letting Eames see the ridiculous mark etched over his heart.

“Where do you think?” he bites out. “I was born with it. Asshole.”

“Arthur,” Eames starts, but then the rest of the team rushes inside, carrying their now-unconscious mark between them.

“Quick!” the extractor shouts. “Get him under. We don’t have time.”

Eames ties a few more strips around Arthur’s wound, awkwardly pats him on the head, then dashes over to the PASIV with the others.

“Don’t screw this up,” the extractor says to Arthur before going under.

Arthur creates a new shirt for himself and glares at the extractor. He should start putting a disclaimer at the end of his resume: Doesn’t work well with morons, idiots, imbecilic idiots and/or morons, and assholes. He gives himself thirty seconds to stare at Eames’ sleeping face before he steps back outside the coffee shop to buy them all time.

~+~+~

When they finish the job and wake up, it’s the standard protocol: act like you know none of the other team members. So when Eames follows Arthur out of the train station and into the street, Arthur knows he’s screwed. So, so screwed.

“We need to talk,” Eames breathes in his ear when they’re waiting on the sidewalk for a bus.

Arthur nods, but doesn’t say anything. He needs to figure out how to control this situation. He needs to figure out what he’s going to say.

He gets on the bus, pretends he doesn’t care when Eames does not sit in the empty seat next to him, and acts calm. He gets off at a familiar stop and walks into a small café down the street. Eames follows him inside.

~+~+~

“Arthur, you saw my back. You had to have known. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Of course Eames opens with that. Of course. Arthur’s plans are already unraveling, and, strangely enough, he doesn’t exactly want to stop it from happening.

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, that amazing mark on your back is an exact replica of my favorite pen from Milan. Guess that means we’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together’?”

Eames blinks. “Yes.”

Arthur tries to process this.

Eames blinks again and leans forward across the small table between them. “Darling, I know people aren’t exactly your strong suit, but you can’t possibly mean…”

Arthur waits for Eames to finish. “I can’t possibly mean what?” He wants to say something about the “not good with people” comment, but, well, Eames is right.

“Did you truly not know what to say?”

Arthur looks into Eames’ expressive eyes and decides he’s too sober for this conversation. Or rather, he isn’t, but he doesn’t want to be having it, so that’s a fair excuse. He could just leave. “Goodbye, Mr. Eames,” he says and walks out the door.

He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or disappointed when Eames doesn’t follow.

~+~+~

Arthur doesn’t see Eames for three months and four days, not that Arthur’s counting like a lovesick fool, and when they find themselves in the same room again, Arthur’s struck with a strange tension. Uncertainty. Arthur hates the feeling, and hates Eames even more for making him feel it.

Other than bickering like usual and calling Arthur “darling” a few too many times for Arthur’s liking, Eames is on his best behavior, and Arthur feels the tension drifting away.

When the job is finished, Eames follows Arthur once again, and this time Arthur heads straight back to his hotel room.

“Getting forward, darling?” Eames asks.

“Getting out,” Arthur replies. “Going home.”

Eames grabs his arm just as Arthur reaches out to open the hotel room door, and Arthur freezes, the warmth of Eames’ hand easily penetrating the layers of his suit and shirt. It feels good, Arthur realizes. He wants more.

He pulls away. “What?” he barks.

Eames looks down and sighs. “We need to discuss this.”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Darling, we’re soulmates.”

“So what?”

“So what? So we should get to know each other better, at the very least!”

“Why? Because something stupid like Fate said that we’re supposed to be one happy couple for all eternity?”

Eames blinks and takes a step back. “Is that what you think?” he murmurs, a small furrow appearing between his brows. “That I’m talking to you because of the marks? Arthur, darling, that’s not it at all.”

Arthur crosses his arms, leaning back against the door. “Enlighten me.”

Eames swallows. “Darling, I’ve been captivated by you from day one. Your confidence, your strength, your skill…it was fascinating to watch you work. I still don’t know how you manage to do everything you do. The inception job really did me in, because…” Eames huffs a laugh. “Really, darling, who else would figure out how to drop us without gravity?” He looks down at the floor briefly. “You just…you’re bloody brilliant at what you do, and when I started watching you more, I realized you’re even more delightfully complicated than I had thought. You’re confident in your skills but you’re the first one to beat yourself up for making a mistake. You can beat anyone in a fight, but you’re strangely vulnerable when it comes to socializing. You act polished and controlled, but underneath you’re just waiting for someone to come along and make the world a more interesting place. You’re…you’re bloody incredible, Arthur, and I’ve been in love with you long before I saw that.” He points at Arthur’s chest.

Arthur stares and blinks and swallows and breathes, and he still doesn’t quite manage to process Eames’ speech. That would mean…that would mean that Eames has been…for _years._

Arthur doesn’t know what to do. So he puts it all in a box, quickly unlocks his door, and slams it in Eames’ face.

He needs some serious processing time.

~+~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue? Majority rules. :)


	2. Losers, Weepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames is more familiar with Arthur, and he constantly bulldozes his way into Arthur’s personal space and stays there. Arthur finds that, surprisingly, he doesn’t mind it, being the center of Eames’ attention.
> 
> He realizes, over the next few days, that Eames has been watching and studying Arthur for years, learning him better than any person he’s ever intended to Forge. At this point, Eames knows Arthur better than anyone else, probably better than Arthur knows himself.
> 
> Arthur processes, and thinks that he could learn to enjoy that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left me kudos and commented!! I feel indescribably happy (and warm and fluffy inside) every time I see that someone has left me kudos or written a lovely, thoughtful comment!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Arthur doesn’t see Eames again for five months, three weeks, and two days. He could probably list the hours and minutes, but he doesn’t want to be too pitiful.

He’s spent those 3,912 hours – okay, so maybe he _is_ that pitiful – processing on all cylinders, and he still doesn’t know how he should feel about everything. So he puts it in a box – but he doesn’t lock it. He barely shuts it.

Their next job together is with the old Inception team plus one other – a total rookie in dream-share – and Arthur doesn’t know if he should be grateful or horrified that the people he trusts most will witness this thing that is between him and Eames. He rubs his pen almost constantly.

Eames enters the warehouse exactly the same way as always, in a flurry of color and charm. Ariadne knows him well enough now to laugh along with his antics and take nothing he says seriously, but Arthur feels a sick sort of glee that she doesn’t know him well enough to recognize when Eames needs to be taken seriously.

For the first few days, Eames treats Arthur as he always has, teasing him endlessly, calling him “darling.” Arthur finds the tension inside him fading away, and he lets himself fall into their familiar rhythm. Then, a week into the job, Rookie – Arthur can’t even be bothered to remember his name until he learns how to make himself more useful – nearly gets killed.

On that day, Eames says, “Arthur, darling, sorry to bother you, but could you bring over everything you have on our mark’s brother?”

Arthur already has a file ready, and he stands to walk it over to Eames.

Rookie snorts. “Yeah, Art, you run right over to your little wife.”

Next thing he knows, Rookie is flat on the floor, with Arthur’s hand wrapped around his throat, and Arthur genuinely has no idea what happened between then and now. He feels an incredibly warm hand rest on his shoulder, and Eames murmurs, “Arthur, darling, it’s fine. Let him up.”

Arthur slowly rises, and Eames slips an arm around his waist. Arthur doesn’t say anything. He even lets himself lean into that warmth, lets Eames’ steady breaths and solid presence calm him down.

He stares down at Rookie. “First,” he growls, “my name is Arthur, not Art. Second, you have no right to say anything about Eames. The man is ten times the dreamer you could ever hope to be.” He opens his mouth to say more, something involving threats and four-letter words, but Eames’ arm around him tightens, so Arthur stops. He glares at Rookie a second longer, then stalks out of the warehouse. Somehow, Eames knows enough to leave Arthur alone to process and regroup.

Arthur’s beginning to run out of boxes – and shelves to put them on.

~+~+~

After the incident with Rookie, Eames is more familiar with Arthur, and he constantly bulldozes his way into Arthur’s personal space and stays there. Arthur finds that, surprisingly, he doesn’t mind it, being the center of Eames’ attention.

He realizes, over the next few days, that Eames has been watching and studying Arthur for years, learning him better than any person he’s ever intended to Forge. At this point, Eames knows Arthur better than anyone else, probably better than Arthur knows himself.

Arthur processes, and thinks that he could learn to enjoy that.

~+~+~

The others don’t notice Eames’ change towards Arthur. Or rather, they do, but they don’t care, and Arthur is strangely relieved. Everything right now is strange to Arthur, and he finds himself touching the etching over his heart more and more often.

 _Soulmate,_ Arthur thinks as he rubs his chest and idly plays with his pen. _Soulmate,_ he ponders as Eames leans over Arthur’s shoulder, his warm body cocooning him, to look at Arthur’s notes about the mark. _Soulmate,_ he considers as Eames gently pulls him from his research to hand him food and water, as Arthur realizes he hasn’t eaten since dawn and the sun has already set. _Soulmate,_ his mind tells him as Eames flashes him a smile before they board the plane. _Soulmate,_ his body whispers as Eames gently inserts Arthur’s IV, fingers brushing his wrist.

 _Soulmate,_ his heart cries as Arthur’s killed in the dream and wakes up, Eames’ shout still echoing in his ears, with the barrel of a gun resting against his forehead. _Soulmate,_ he breathes as he’s dragged away from Eames and the rest of the team, the somnacin still coursing through his veins.

_Soulmate._

~+~+~

Eames is a liability. Arthur knows this now. He was so busy being captivated by Eames’ smile that he completely missed the men following them onto the plane. He was so busy watching out for Eames while they were under that he didn’t notice that projection until he was already waking up.

Eames is a liability.

Arthur’s had plenty of time to process this, since he’s currently duct taped to a metal chair in the middle of a moldy, disintegrating building. He really hates duct tape. Back when he first started dreaming, they used zip ties, handcuffs, rope, or wire. Arthur is extremely talented at getting out of those. But now, with this ridiculous invention, he’s stuck sitting like a little kid, waiting for some stupid knight in rusted armor to come rescue him.

The door slowly, painfully swings open with a grating squeal, and Arthur lets his eyelids droop.

“He still out?” a gruff voice asks. Arthur makes sure he doesn’t smirk. And Eames says he can’t act.

“Seems so, boss,” a nasally voice responds. “Guess we gave him too much of that stuff. Wasn’t it s’posed to just make him slow down or something?”

“Yeah.”

“So what are gonna do, boss?”

“Wait for him to wake up. We got time.”

The door grinds shut.

Arthur lets himself smile.

~+~+~

The next time the door opens, Arthur’s wide awake and ready. “Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen,” he calls. “What can I do for you today?”

He’s had a lot more time to process. He knows that the idiots left his phone in his jacket pocket – they didn’t even check him for weapons – and he knows that Eames is tracking him as he speaks. He lets himself believe that, lets himself trust Eames. 

It’s the first time he’s ever done that. Trusted.

The two men approach him. “Shut up,” Boss growls. He walks straight up to Arthur and punches him. Hard.

Arthur takes a deep breath, spits out the blood in his mouth, and smirks.

“What are you looking at, asshole?” Boss growls.

“A dead man,” Arthur says. “Six feet under.”

He closes his eyes and considers taking a nap until Boss gets bored. Eames better not let him down.

~+~+~

“Darling?”

Arthur must be dreaming. He wants to check his totem.

“Arthur, darling, are you alright?”

Incredibly warm hands cup his face.

“Arthur.”

Arthur opens his eyes. “Eames?” 

“Yeah, love.”

He hears a ripping noise, and his hands fall free. Arthur tries to lift them, but they aren’t cooperating.

A warm arm wraps around Arthur’s torso, and he leans into the comforting solidity of Eames’ chest.

“Eames?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Take me home?”

“Of course, darling.”

On their way out the door, Arthur makes Eames pause so he can kick Boss. It’s less than he would have liked, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Thanks, Eames.”

“Of course, love.”

~+~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...Arthur and Eames wanted to be stupid before I could give them their HEA. I don't know how I let them get so out of control.
> 
> Shall I continue?


	3. Make Just One Someone Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur stays with Eames while he recovers. During that time, he sleeps more soundly than he ever has in his entire life, lying next to Eames’ comforting warmth and listening to Eames’ deep, steady breaths. During that time, he lets Eames touch him more, lets him invade his personal space almost every minute of the day. During that time, he lets himself trust Eames to always be there when he wakes up, when he stumbles while getting out of bed, when he's miserable from the pain or groggy from the drugs. During that time, he lets them fall into a steady, comforting rhythm.
> 
> During that time, he lets himself love Eames just a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for the kudos and comments!! Arthur was being stubborn for this Chapter, so it was a bit trickier to write (if you read the comments, you'll know why haha) but I think (I hope?) I managed alright. Let me know what you think! I love to hear from you all!

Everything hurts, and Arthur wants it all to stop. If only he knew how to put pain in a box.

On the bright side, he's lying in a soft, fluffy bed that is much nicer than the one in his apartment.

An incredibly warm hand rests on Arthur’s back. “Darling?”

Arthur grunts.

Eames laughs softly. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

“Eames?” Arthur breathes.

“Yes, darling?”

“The job?”

Eames leans down and presses his lips against Arthur’s forehead. “Don't worry about that, love. Just rest.”

Arthur would normally refuse, just to be a contrarian because it’s _Eames,_ but he is absolutely exhausted, so he snuggles into the warmth surrounding him. He falls back asleep before Eames returns.

~+~+~

When he wakes up again the pain is no better – but at least the fluffiness is still there, too. He blinks his eyes open and sees Eames sitting on the side of the bed.

“Hey,” Eames whispers. “How do you feel?”

Arthur takes a deep breath. “Like crap.”

Eames chuckles. “Here.” He helps Arthur sit up and hands him some pills and a glass of water. Arthur swallows them without hesitation, then leans into Eames.

"Alright, darling?” Eames runs gentle fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“Mhm. Tired.” Arthur takes a deep breath and lets his Eames box slip open just the tiniest bit. “Knew you'd come.”

Eames hums, the vibrations running through Arthur like a cat’s purr, and Eames kisses Arthur's head. “Rest, love. You’re safe.”

Arthur does.

~+~+~

Arthur stays with Eames while he recovers. During that time, he sleeps more soundly than he ever has in his entire life, lying next to Eames’ comforting warmth and listening to Eames’ deep, steady breaths. During that time, he lets Eames touch him more, lets him invade his personal space almost every minute of the day. During that time, he lets himself trust Eames to always be there when he wakes up, when he stumbles while getting out of bed, when he's miserable from the pain or groggy from the drugs. During that time, he lets them fall into a steady, comforting rhythm.

During that time, he lets himself love Eames just a little more.

~+~+~

As Arthur heals, he repeatedly asks Eames about the job. Eames, being the stubborn, uncontrollable Forger that Arthur tried to hate for years, refuses to answer.

If he were completely healthy, Arthur reminds himself, he would force Eames to tell him, would confront him on his behavior. But he’s not completely healthy, Arthur reassures himself, so it’s alright that he just accepts it and moves on, that he lets Eames take care of him.

Arthur doesn’t think about what he’ll do when he’s fully recovered. That’s sitting in a box in the deepest recesses of his archives.

~+~+~

Cobb calls Arthur a few days later, the ringtone dragging Arthur from his sleep.

"What do you want?" Eames says.

Arthur freezes, half-upright in bed.

"He's asleep, and I'm not waking him up just so he can listen to you grovel."

There's a long moment of silence that Arthur feels stripping away the past few days' calm. He slowly pushes himself completely upright, gritting his teeth against the stubborn, residual soreness in his muscles.

"Fine. I'll tell him."

Eames walks into the bedroom a moment later and hesitates when he sees Arthur sitting up.

"Who called?" Arthur says into the sudden silence. He can sense a tension that he's never felt around Eames before. Awkwardness.

"Cobb," Eames mutters, rubbing his head.

Arthur waits to see if Eames is going to elaborate. "Was it urgent?" He can already feel his mind kicking into gear, creating contingency plans for something he doesn't even know yet. "Are the kids alright?"

Eames sits down next to Arthur and gently pulls his head down to Eames' shoulder. Arthur, as has become his new habit, doesn't even think to protest. He breathes in Eames' spicy scent and lets his forehead rest against Eames' collarbone. Eames runs a hand up and down Arthur's back, and Arthur finds himself breathing in the same rhythm. 

"Everything's fine, darling," Eames murmurs. "I would have told you right away if Cobb was in trouble."

Arthur sighs, letting that building panic fade away.

"He just wanted to apologize for screwing us over – again. Apparently he was in trouble with a rival dream-share organization, and they thought that kidnapping his most trusted point man and demanding a ransom would get them the money they were owed."

Eames' voice is light, but Arthur can feel his anger materializing as coiled tension in his muscles.

"I thought you'd rather sleep and heal than listen to his pitiful excuses."

Arthur hums in agreement. He's already drifting off again, and a small part of his mind thinks all this sleep can't be healthy. But maybe his body is just taking advantage of the situation to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Eames chuckles. "Don't fight it, love. You were pulling far too many all-nighters preparing for this job. Go back to sleep."

He starts to shift away, and Arthur instinctively throws his arms around Eames' waist. The movement lacks his usual grace, but it still has the desired effect: Eames helps Arthur lay down, then slides into bed beside him.

"You'll be here?" Arthur mumbles, his eyelids drooping.

"I promise," Eames whispers, kissing Arthur's forehead.

Arthur falls asleep with a ridiculous smile on his face.

~+~+~

"Tell me about this, darling."

"It's a pen, Eames."

"Well it's clearly not just any pen, since it's essentially tattooed on my back."

"It's nothing."

"Arthur."

"What about yours?"

"Sorry?"

"Why am I stuck with _this_ for the rest of my life?"

"Oh that. Well..."

"Exactly."

"Arthur, darling, you spoiled my fun."

"I want to eat. Like, real food, not something you microwaved for five minutes."

"Don't try to change the subject, darling. And my cooking is sublime."

"It's manufactured. Take me somewhere nice for dinner."

"Arthur, darling...will this be a date?"

"Stop asking me stupid questions, Eames. I just want some food."

"Did you know your ears glow when you're blushing?"

"Shut up, Mr. Eames."

~+~+~

Arthur learns a lot about Eames while he stays with him. He learns that Eames is just as organized as Arthur, although he probably doesn’t dream of archives like Arthur does. He learns that Eames arranges his closet by color and fabric, that he can cook a delicious omelet but has actually burned water on multiple occasions. He learns that Eames is fluent in eight languages, that he has a penchant for Russian literature, of all things, and that he is an artist. He learns that Eames At Home is very different from Eames At Work, and Arthur cannot decide which he likes better. He learns that, in all his years working alongside Eames, he only ever saw one facet of the Forger and actually knows embarrassingly little about the man who is his soulmate.

He learns that being marked as soulmates doesn’t do anything to help with "couple" things like communicating, and he learns that he and Eames fit together in real life better than they work together in a dream, although Arthur hadn’t thought that was possible.

He learns that he loves Eames truly, fully, and terrifyingly deeply, and he has to put his first instinct in a box with a padlock to stop himself from immediately pushing Eames away, hurting him – both of them – and running somewhere, _anywhere,_ to protect them both from each other. Because loving someone is a liability – Arthur knows that now. But having someone to love, having someone who loves you in return, is a strength.

Arthur learns that, after he curbs that initial instinct, it's frighteningly easy to love Eames.

~+~+~

They’re forced out of their utopian bubble and back into the real world when Cobb calls, frantic, saying they’ve taken James and Philippa. Arthur and Eames lurch into motion, years of practice guiding them as they quickly pack and book two seats on the next flight back to the states.

They’re on the plane, high above the ground, when Eames turns to Arthur and says, “Darling, when we get back…”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Eames glances down briefly. “We haven’t exactly spoken about living arrangements.”

Arthur blinks and tries to process this. “Are you…” He doesn’t want to be wrong and make a fool of himself, but he needs more specificity. “Are you asking me to…move in?”

Eames hesitates. “Would that be too much, too fast?” he asks. “I don’t want to rush you, darling, but I really enjoyed having you there, and I just thought, I don’t know, that you seemed to be enjoying it, too, and perhaps we could, I don’t know–”

Arthur interrupts him. “I’d love to.”

“Really?” Eames’ face shines brighter than the setting sun outside the plane.

“Really.”

They spend the rest of the trip looking at each other and grinning like idiots, and Arthur can’t really bring himself to care.

~+~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. I'm sorry, but not really, because these boys needed a good cuddle :)
> 
> Onward?


	4. One Face That Lights When it Nears You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Arthur were a cartoon, he’d have a lightbulb – no, an enormous floodlight – hovering in the air above his head right now. But Arthur isn’t a cartoon – thank the Fates for that small mercy – so he has to settle with adding a note of this momentous insight to his Eames box and scribbling it all around the outside, too. Just because.

They make it through customs without a problem, and Arthur’s pulling into Cobb’s driveway just in time for dinner. (Eames wanted to drive, but Arthur knows better than to trust him with a rental car, even if he leaves Eames in charge of the actual transaction. Arthur really doesn’t want to be filling out more insurance claims on this trip.)

They’re quiet as they walk up to Cobb’s house, and Arthur knows it’s because they’re worried about the kids and stressed out, but it still bothers him. They’ve spent so many years bickering endlessly that this silence between him and Eames seems unnatural.

Cobb answers the door, weary and stricken, and Arthur witnesses Eames’ Forging skills outside of a dream for the very first time. Eames’ eyes light up, a grin stretches across his face, and he happily invites himself inside Cobb’s house, barely stopping to take a breath. If Arthur hadn’t seen the frown on Eames’ face just moments before, he would find the act very convincing – and Arthur realizes, he _has_ been deceived by it. He’s seen it for, goodness, how many years has it been now? At least seven, probably more. However much he prided himself on knowing Eames better than people like Ariadne, Arthur realizes, he’s still a shallow idiot who never even tried to dig past that surface level of charm that shields Eames just like Arthur’s suits and uptight personality.

If Arthur were a cartoon, he’d have a lightbulb – no, an enormous floodlight – hovering in the air above his head right now. But Arthur isn’t a cartoon – thank the Fates for that small mercy – so he has to settle with adding a note of this momentous insight to his Eames box and scribbling it all around the outside, too. Just because.

Arthur forces himself out of his own head and has to hold back a grin at the semi-blatant look of pure aggravation that Cobb is directing towards Eames. Arthur thinks that Cobb is better off feeling any emotion except sadness or worry, and Eames must think the same, based on the way he carelessly ignores Cobb’s glares and continues to talk a mile a minute about houses and aesthetics and – did Arthur just hear him say rats?

He opens his mouth to tell Eames to stop for just a minute, because no one should ever mention rodents in a proper conversation, but Cobb beats him to it with a resounding, _“Shut up.”_

Eames blinks at him. “Is something the matter?”

Cobb growls. “Yes, there is. My children have been kidnapped, I have absolutely no idea where they are, and you’re just standing there, going off about I don’t even know what, and I just want to punch you in your stupid, happy face because _my children are gone and you don’t even seem to care.”_ His voice has been steadily rising, and he’s practically screaming at the end.

Arthur blinks and Eames’ pleasant expression has given way to an extremely unpleasant one.

“Well now you know how it feels, mate,” Eames says. “Worrying about someone, hating everyone else for not worrying half as much as you, going mad with the possibilities of what they’re doing to that person you so desperately love.”

Cobb scowls at Eames. “What the hell are you even on about?” he asks, throwing his hands in the air. He turns to Arthur. “Just find them. And quick.”

Arthur nods out of habit, but he’s barely paying attention as Cobb storms out of the room, too busy processing Eames’ words. _Worrying about someone, hating everyone else…_

“Well I’m glad to know that we came all this way for that prat,” Eames says, coming up behind Arthur. He hooks his arms around Arthur’s waist and rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur can’t even be bothered to react at all, because he’s still thinking about what Eames said.

_Going mad with the possibilities of what they’re doing to that person you so desperately love…_

“Darling?” Eames murmurs, nose brushing Arthur’s ear. “What are you pondering so deeply?”

“Eames,” Arthur whispers.

“Mhm?”

“Did you…” Arthur tries to think of how to phrase this. “Were you talking about me?”

“No, no that was Cobb I was referring to, darling. I would never call you a prat.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Now you know how it feels,” he repeats. “Were you talking about me then?”

“Oh.” Eames stiffens a moment then completely relaxes into soft, spicy-scented warmth draped over Arthur’s back. “Yes.” He presses his lips against the skin peeking out from Arthur’s coat collar. “Did you mind that, darling?”

Arthur thinks. “No,” he says. “No, it…I didn’t realize…You know, I…Eames.”

Eames’ arms tighten around Arthur’s waist. “I know, love.” He reaches up to push a stray hair out of Arthur’s face, his expression unbearably soft. He steps away before Arthur can think of how to put his thoughts into words. “Do you think we can put our bags in a room somewhere, or are we meant to camp out in this foyer until we rescue his children?” Eames asks with an exaggerated pout.

Arthur smiles unwillingly. “Come on,” he says, picking up his suitcase. He puts a little sticky note on the lid of his Eames box: Have A Discussion with soulmate after children are recovered.

~+~+~

Arthur sets himself up in the office, which used to be The Room that they – he, Dom, and Mal – would sit in to pick out other team members and go over extraction plans. They would stay long into the night, listening to the small fire crackling and poring over dossiers that Arthur uncovered and later began compiling on his own about every known member of dream-share. Mal used to spin the ornate globe on her desk to pick a country for them to run off to after a job was completed, and he and Cobb would shout and complain when her elegant finger landed on Greenland, the Sahara Desert, or, worst of all, Antarctica.

Cobb has barely stepped foot in the office since Mal’s death. Arthur gently spins Mal’s globe and watches detachedly as his finger creates a wobbly line in the dust. It lands on England, and Arthur has to chuckle. Eames and I just left London, he thinks. What are you trying to tell me, Mal?

He looks around, takes a deep breath, and unshelves his Mal box. He lets himself remember all the hours he spent here as a teen, even sleeping on the couch when his mother was nowhere to be found and his father was in a particularly bad alcohol-induced temper. He lets himself mourn her death again for a single, brief moment.

Then he puts his bag on the desk and gets ready to work. He’s not certain he will ever be able to trust Cobb again, but he needs to find James and Phillipa. If not for Cobb, then for Mal.

~+~+~

Eames comes in quietly, gently shutting the door behind him, and Arthur is not so far gone that a small part of his brain doesn’t notice, process, and stop the sharp comment that wants to escape. If it were Cobb, Arthur doubts his brain’s filter would have kicked in so quickly.

“Darling,” Eames murmurs, gently running a hand along Arthur’s back. He pinpoints the two knots of muscle in Arthur’s shoulders and immediately starts kneading them. Arthur closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward just a smidge.

“Mmph?” he grunts, somewhat eloquently.

Eames chuckles. “You need to eat, love.”

“In a minute,” Arthur slurs, the sudden relief in his shoulders making him nearly incoherent. God, how long have those knots been there? Months, it feels.

Eames kisses Arthur’s head. “Now. Come along, darling.”

Without another word, Eames closes Arthur’s laptop, grasps his hand, and leads him out of the room, ignoring Arthur’s very important complaints. Eames forces Arthur to eat half a plate of food then walks him back up to the office with a glass of milk and a small plate of crackers and cookies. He kisses Arthur’s temple this time, and murmurs, “Good luck, darling,” before he leaves.

Arthur thinks he mumbles something in response. Hopefully, whatever it is he says, it’s not too sappy and childish.

~+~+~

It takes days – endless, harrowing days – but Arthur finally manages to track down the kidnappers and their location. It takes an indecent amount of browbeating and threats – and a horrifyingly large number of favors Arthur had really wanted to save for just a bit longer – but he, Cobb, and Eames manage to recover the children, who are only a little bruised but otherwise unharmed, thank _God,_ and Arthur, in the process, completely eradicates that rival dream-share organization.

So, he may have had a bit of pent-up anger floating inside of him. But he feels it’s better spent on the group that kidnapped and tortured him and dared lay a hand on Cobb’s beautiful children than on, say, punching an unsuspecting someone that he sees leaving a bar who reminds him of his father, or worse, lashing out at Eames.

Arthur hasn’t forgotten that he needs to have A Conversation with his soulmate, and he knows that saying mean and hateful things – and Arthur has an embarrassingly large section of his archives filled with just that, organized by person, subject, and length – to the man with whom he would be perfectly comfortable spending the rest of his life would be a very bad start to the discussion. And yes, he also knows that opening with a declaration of intent such as, “I want to be with you forever” is not only unrealistic but also naïve, so he’s going to start with something more neutral.

Arthur has a plan. It’ll be fine.

~+~+~

It isn’t fine.

~+~+~

Eames always messes up Arthur’s plans, and Arthur really feels like he should know that by now.

Really.

~+~+~

The Conversation was doomed from the start, and Arthur really didn’t mean for it to go the way it did, but now it’s happened, and Arthur’s messed everything up, and he doubts he’ll ever figure out what this ridiculous _thing_ is that’s forever resting over his heart, but that’s fine, you know that? _Absolutely fine_ because Arthur has a plan, he has the perfect plan for how he’ll survive this, how he’ll repair the unexpectedly _gaping_ hole Eames has left behind in Arthur’s life and he’ll move on and it’ll all be _fine._

He’s already put the last few weeks into his ever-expanding Eames box, especially the memories of Eames’ breath as he sleeps next to Arthur and Eames’ incredibly warm hands as he touches Arthur so gently and Eames’ soft words and _darling_ and _Eames_. Arthur’s put all of that into his Eames box and tucked it away into his archives where he’ll hopefully never have to look at it again, and it will all be fine, even though that box is just about bursting at the seams and screaming to be opened, because like he said, Arthur has a plan about How To Live now that Eames is gone, and _it will all be fine. ___

At least, it would be, if Arthur had a plan.

__

~+~+~

Arthur misses Eames. He misses him dreadfully, and there isn’t enough of anything in the world that will make Arthur forget that, even for the briefest minute.

And Arthur hates that, because his mind is constantly thinking _Eames Eames Eames Eames._ But he loves that, because his mind is constantly thinking _Eames Eames Eames Eames._

~+~+~

Late at night, when Arthur can’t sleep because his stupid body somehow got used to having a warm, spicy-smelling body next to it, Arthur peaks inside his Eames box and lets himself remember. He avoids the Big Thing cowering in the corner of the box, because that’s what ruined it all, that’s what made his Eames box so damned big in the first place, but the rest – the rest of it, Arthur lets himself savor. Every look, touch, breath, blink.

So yes, Arthur is that pitiful.

~+~+~

A month after Eames leaves, Arthur weakens. He opens his Eames box and pulls out the Big Thing crouched in the corner and forces himself to look at it. Examine it. Curse it.

He should have done it weeks ago.

~+~+~

Arthur starts The Conversation while they’re driving back to the airport to go home – Arthur’s already gotten used to thinking of Eames’ flat as home, and Arthur’s going to call his own landlord back in the states tonight to tell him to cancel his lease – because Arthur thinks that if they have The Conversation now, then they can enjoy the entire flight.

“Eames,” he starts, his hands ignoring his brain and clutching the steering wheel so tightly the knuckles are white because, fine, he is _nervous,_ okay? It’s a Very Important Conversation he’s about to have, after all, and it’s taking everything Arthur has within him not to just blurt out, “I love you and I want to live with you forever and ever and always,” but he knows Eames would either laugh at him or die of shock, and neither result is ideal.

“What is it, darling?” Eames asks, glancing over at Arthur.

Why are Arthur’s lips dry all of the sudden? “About moving in with you,” he starts. He has to stop to take a breath, but his lungs don’t seem to be cooperating either. Is his whole body going to betray him now? Doesn’t it know he has a plan that needs to followed?

Eames is suspiciously silent. Arthur would have thought he would have jumped in while Arthur was remembering how to breathe, would have prompted Arthur to continue or made a joke or _something._

“I…I just wanted to say that I…”

Eames sighs and finally speaks. “I know,” he whispers. “I know, Arthur.”

It’s the “Arthur” that warns him, because it’s been months if not years since Eames has ever called Arthur anything other than “darling” or “love.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks. He’s trying to process but he doesn’t have enough information. Stupid specificity.

“It’s fine,” Eames says, clearing his throat. “Just drop me off at the airport, alright? We don’t need to make this a bigger production than it has to be, just…” Eames takes a breath, and Arthur hears it quaver, or Arthur _thinks_ he does, but maybe it’s just his brain being delusional, because he’s still having trouble breathing and his fingers are nearly numb with how tight they’re holding the wheel and this isn’t how he planned this Conversation to go, not at all.

“But why?” Arthur asks. “What? I thought I…I thought you…”

“It’s fine,” Eames says again. They’re already at the airport and it’s too soon, Arthur still doesn’t understand what’s going on. Can he just make everything freeze so he has time to process? Arthur wishes this were a dream.

He has to stop while the car in front of them pauses to let off a passenger, and Arthur is too caught up in his head to notice Eames until it’s too late, Eames sliding out of the car in one smooth motion, briefly opening the back door to grab his single suitcase, and walking into the airport without a single word or backward glance.

“Wait,” Arthur says to the now-empty car, because this is not how anything was supposed to happen, and why is Eames leaving him, didn’t he tell Arthur they were going to return the rental car together and _then_ board the plane? “Eames?”

The car behind him honks loudly, repeatedly, and Arthur tears his eyes away from the doorway Eames just walked through and looks for the rental place again.

But Arthur can’t find it, because his brain is too busy trying to figure out why Eames just walked away in the middle of a Conversation, and Eames was the one who remembered where the rental place was, Eames was the one who rented the ridiculous thing in the first place, and so Arthur drives around and around in confusing circles until he starts to sympathize with the projections who get caught in his paradoxes, and when Arthur finally, _finally_ finds the rental place, he looks at his watch and realizes…he missed the flight. He. He missed the flight.

And Arthur sits in the small, disgusting lobby of the car rental place and stares at his watch and tries to process, because nothing is happening like he planned it to, and Eames is gone, and Arthur is here, which is definitely not next to Eames on the plane and is a far cry from Eames’ London flat, and Arthur’s vision is strangely blurry and nothing makes sense anymore.

He’s sitting with his legs pressed up against his chest, one arm wrapped around them, the other shifting as he compulsively rubs his chest over and over and over and over, when the woman behind the desk in the rental place’s disgusting lobby comes out and tells him that she’s closing for the night and doesn’t he have somewhere to be?

Arthur can’t find the breath to tell her, Not anymore.

~+~+~

He calls a cab. He calls a cab and goes to his apartment that is definitely not in London and is very obviously lacking Eames and thinks dazedly that it’s a good thing he hadn’t already cancelled his lease.

He stares at the blank walls and his mind wonders what Eames would do with them if he saw them, if Eames would cover them in wallpaper or paint or posters or his beautiful artwork, and surprisingly, that _hurts,_ it hurts to think about, so Arthur hurriedly puts it in his Eames box and realizes that everything hurts, so he puts it all in his Eames box and crawls into bed under every fluffy blanket he can find and curls up into a pitiful ball and somehow, strangely, falls asleep.

~+~+~

It’s been almost two months now, and Arthur hasn’t taken a job since, hasn’t talked to anyone, has only grudgingly left his apartment for food and other necessities.

He misses Eames. And he still doesn’t understand what happened.

~+~+~

He should have caught the next flight to London, should have gone straight to Eames’ apartment and demanded an explanation, but he didn’t, and by the time he realizes this, figures out what he should have done, it’s been two months and five days, and it’s much too late now.

Isn’t it?

~+~+~

He finally forces himself back into the land of the living and takes a job in Detroit. He somehow remembers how to put on clothes and brush his hair, but he can’t really be bothered to figure out his contacts again, so he packs haphazardly and walks into the team meeting wearing slacks, a blouse and sweater, slightly curling hair, and glasses.

That patch of skin over his heart burns as he enters the room, and Arthur hears a sharp inhale. He turns and stares into a distressingly familiar pair of eyes.

~+~+~

Somehow, he and Eames fall into a pattern where they never cross paths on the job, are never alone in the room together, and certainly never dream alone together. The rest of the team is too oblivious to notice anything, and Arthur is grateful.

The entire time he’s doing his research, that patch of skin over his heart tingles and itches and twitches, and Arthur finds that he’s rubbing it more than his precious pen, the pen he can hardly look at now without seeing an exact replica of it on a certain man’s back. It may be melodramatic, but Arthur feels like his heart is shouting _Eames Eames Eames Eames_ because he can’t bring himself to do it out loud.

~+~+~

They go under and then under again. The extractor is a bit cocky for his relative lack of experience, so Arthur said he’d be in charge of dreaming the second level to make it as stable as possible. Everything is going according to plan until the mark’s subconscious security detail shows up.

Arthur wants to jump off a building and not wake up. This is the third time he hasn’t uncovered that piece of information, and really, how did he ever earn the title of Best Point Man in the business if he can’t even find this?

He and Eames still can read each other’s minds in a dream, and they immediately lead the security away from the others to buy them more time. They manage to kill or incapacitate most of them, but then Arthur sees one aiming his gun at Eames’ back, and Arthur, for the first time in his life, doesn’t think but _moves._

~+~+~

He wakes up with a gasp and is already upright before his mind has caught up.

“What the hell, man? It’s way too early!”

Arthur blinks at the rookie and jumps out of his seat, dashing over to the mark to try to keep him under a bit longer.

Stupid, he tells himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

~+~+~

Eames saves the job, because that’s what Eames has always done, cleaned up Arthur’s messes, and so he saves Arthur from a lecture from an arrogant extractor who’s nearly half his age.

Arthur can’t bring himself to talk to Eames just yet, so he just leaves, heads back to his hotel.

He doesn’t know if he’s pleased or surprised that Eames follows.

This time, he lets Eames into his hotel room and gestures for him to sit down. Arthur strips off his suit and tie and flops back onto the lumpy mattress with a groan.

Eames lets out a soft chuckle, and it’s so familiar to Arthur, even dampened by the unspoken words between them, that he can’t help but smile back.

“Thanks,” he says. “For saving the job.”

He hears a rustle of fabric, then Eames is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Arthur. “No, thank you,” Eames murmurs. “You saved me down there.”

Arthur blinks and looks away. “I almost jeopardized the entire job.”

“Yeah, but you saved me, so I can’t really bring myself to blame you. I’m selfish like that.”

Arthur feels his lips curling.

“And the job still worked out,” Eames continues. He shifts slightly. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Arthur turns back towards Eames. Watches him. He’s exhausted – once again, he pulled a few all-nighters for this job, but he really hasn’t slept well in months anyway – so he lets his Eames box slide open and can’t even control the tremor in his voice when he asks, “Why did you leave?”

Eames frowns slightly. “You asked,” he says.

“Asked what?” Arthur replies. He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “I didn’t ask you anything. You just got out of the car, and I still can’t figure out why. We were going to…We…I had a plan.”

Eames hesitates, then slowly lies down on the bed next to Arthur. Arthur can feel his warmth even with the few inches separating them. He’s missed it.

“You were trying to tell me you didn’t want to move in with me,” Eames whispers, and Arthur pushes aside the fatigue and bolts upright.

“What? No.”

Eames stares at him. “What do you mean no? You said–”

Arthur cuts him off. “I was trying to tell you…”

Eames sits up. “Well? Out with it then, since it seems like your inability to properly have a conversation caused this whole mess in the first place.”

Arthur licks his lips. He has nothing to lose, he supposes. “I was trying to tell you that I loved you and I wanted to move in with you and stay with you forever,” he tells the mattress, “but I knew that that would make me sound like an idiot, so I was trying to tell you without saying all of that verbatim.”

Eames takes a deep breath. And another. He collapses on the bed with a loud huff and pushes his head into Arthur’s hip.

“Why didn’t you come after me?” Eames asks, his words slightly muffled. “Why didn’t you follow me, tell me what you really meant?”

Arthur swallows. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t find the rental place, and you weren’t there to help me, and there were too many cars and wrong turns and dead ends in that parking lot, and by the time I found the rental place I had missed the flight, and there was too much happening, and I just, I couldn’t process, and…”

Eames sighs and tugs Arthur down alongside him, pushing Arthur’s head into his shoulder. Arthur happily does, breathing in Eames’ familiar scent.

“Darling,” Eames breathes, stroking Arthur’s hair. “Oh, love.”

“And by the time I realized that I should have followed you, two months had passed and I thought it was too late.”

Eames rubs Arthur’s back and kisses the top of his head. “Never, darling,” he whispers. “We’re soulmates, aren’t we? It’s never too late.”

Arthur takes a shaky breath and is horrified to feel his eyes burn.

“Rest, love,” Eames whispers. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Arthur drifts off, cocooned in warmth, soft words, gentle kisses, and Eames, and he vaguely wonders how he survived two months without this before he’s fast asleep.

~+~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall I continue? Or did I just kill you all with the angst? :)


	5. And You Will Be Happy, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they live happily ever after.

And they live happily ever after.

Or at least, Arthur thinks they ought to. He and Eames have definitely earned it, as far as he’s concerned. But because he and Eames are, well, _he and Eames,_ he doubts it will ever be that simple.

~+~+~

They fly back to London after dropping by Arthur’s apartment to cancel his lease and take the important things – mostly clothes, books, and paperwork from past projects – and Arthur is in a perpetual state of déjà vu except for the fact that he and Eames return the rental together and board the plane together and land in England together and are very, very much _together._

~+~+~

They arrive at Eames’ flat late in the evening and immediately flop onto Eames’ bed. Arthur takes one precious moment to unlock his Eames box and revel in all its memories and sensations and _happiness_ before he falls asleep with, he is certain, an absolutely ridiculous smile on his face.

But he’s with Eames now, hopefully for a very long time, so Arthur thinks there are worse things that he could be doing.

~+~+~

Eames leaves to run some errands in the morning, leaving Arthur alone to unpack. He finishes in under an hour and stretches out on Eames’ very comfy couch (Arthur’s a little disappointed it’s not an Eames couch, but life isn’t perfect) with his favorite book and just relaxes.

Arthur can now understand the appeal.

~+~+~

“Darling,” Eames calls however many minutes or hours later, “I’m home.”

Arthur’s engrossed in the chase scene he’s reading, worried for the protagonist even though he’s only read this at least fifty times in the last two years, so he doesn’t even bother looking up. “In here.”

Eames comes into the living room and freezes. “Darling.”

Arthur reaches the end of the chapter, relieved that, once again, the hero has escaped from the villain, and glances up at Eames. “Is something wrong?” he asks. Arthur’s never seen that expression on Eames’ face before.

“Darling…are you wearing _jeans?”_

Arthur glances down at his legs stretched out across the length of the couch. “Yes.” They’re his favorite pair, the ones with the slightly frayed hems that tickle his feet. Arthur wiggles his toes and smiles.

Eames looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. “Have you been incepted, darling?”

Arthur frowns as he realizes Eames might actually be serious. “No,” he says. “Why?”

Eames gestures unhelpfully at Arthur.

“Eames?”

“You… _jeans,_ darling.”

Arthur blinks. “I think you skipped the most important parts of that sentence.”

Eames shakes his head and comes over to the couch, picking up Arthur’s legs so he can sit down. Arthur lets his feet flop into Eames’ lap in retaliation.

“I didn’t think you owned a pair of jeans,” Eames confesses.

Arthur stares at him. “You didn’t…Eames, who doesn’t own jeans?”

Eames smiles self-consciously. “Yeah, I know.”

Arthur tries to process. He fails. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Darling, the entire dream-share community thinks that.”

“What?”

Eames chuckles and idly runs a hand up and down Arthur’s calf. “You always wear impeccable outfits, darling. I doubt anyone’s ever seen you in anything else.”

Arthur blinks at the tightness in his chest. Hurt? “Eames...that’s for work. That-” He makes himself take a deep breath. “You know that I do that for work, right?”

Eames smiles. “I know it now. It was a bit foolish of me to assume like that,” he admits. “It’s just, you’re always so in control, I thought it was merely an extension of your personality.”

Arthur frowns. He _is_ a control freak, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy blue jeans like the rest of the world. “It started because no one wanted to take an eighteen-year-old seriously, and I realized that if I dressed the part, people believed it.” He shrugs. “Then it became part of my reputation, and I could never manage to go against it.”

“That makes sense, darling.” Eames idly plays with the jeans’ frayed hems. “I like this look on you.”

He looks at Arthur and grins, his eyes lighting up so much that Arthur thinks they’re glowing, and Arthur feels himself smiling back.

This is fine. More than fine.

~+~+~

Everyone is born with a mark on their skin, a symbol of something significant to their soulmate. It could be anything from a word to a number to a shape. The difficulty is determining what the mark means, but Arthur thinks that’s the most brilliant part of this whole “soulmate” thing. It is, after all, the reason he has Eames, and Arthur would never change that for anything.

Arthur’s sign is really ridiculous. It’s...well, it’s so ridiculous that, even though Arthur really can’t stand it and is embarrassed just knowing that it’s sitting directly over his heart, he loves Eames too much to really care, and isn’t that just the most ridiculous thing in the world?

But that’s fine. Arthur’s spent the last thirty years of his life wondering what that furry, cartoonish, psychedelic-colored chicken could possibly signify. He is strangely excited that he can spend the next thirty or forty or fifty knowing exactly why it means to much to his soulmate.

So Arthur learns all about the sign etched on his skin and focuses on his soulmate. He focuses on learning Eames’ idiosyncrasies, communicating more effectively, and researching everything he possibly can about Eames - and since Eames will literally tell him anything (Arthur learned that the hard way when he asked Eames an idle question about embarrassing childhood memories), that list is very long. If brilliant Fate thinks it can decide whom he’ll love, then Arthur will gladly spend the rest of his life proving Fate right.

Which is why Eames enthralls him. Eames, who could care less whether Fate was right or wrong because he has Arthur with him and that’s more than enough. Eames, who knows more about Arthur than Arthur knows about himself, who knows exactly how Arthur works and doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. Eames, who is everything Arthur isn’t and who represents everything Arthur is grateful to have in his life.

Arthur can’t control Eames. He can’t control anything that his mischievous soulmate does, so he doesn’t even try. He watches him instead, watches him closely enough that he can step in when Eames’ free spirit is endangering the job or the team or their mortgage. Arthur’s good at managing his priorities like that. Every time he’s on a job with Eames - which is always, now, because they learned the hard way that they can’t trust anyone else to have their backs - Arthur balances Eames’ wiles and charm with an easy grip on logic and reason.

Arthur sees Eames’ soulmate sign all the time, now. He purposefully seeks it out just so he can smile at the pen running down Eames’ spine, so he can sometimes trace it or kiss it and thank the Fates and God and whatever other deity is listening that he and Eames got a second - and third and tenth and millionth - chance. No matter what, he will never be sorry for being stuck with Eames forever. As far as he’s concerned, forever is nowhere near long enough.

“Darling, it’s time for lunch. You do remember what food is, yes?”

Arthur grins and stretches, quickly saving his work before Eames can shut his laptop down and drag him away from his desk.

As he stands, Eames comes up behind him, twining his arms around Arthur’s waist. The bands of metal around their fingers clink together gently, and Arthur lets his head fall back against Eames’ shoulder.

Eames presses a kiss to the shell of Arthur’s ear. “Come on, love. Food, then cuddles.”

Arthur laughs and follows Eames outside. This is far from fine.

This is infinitely better than _fine_ could ever hope to be.

~+~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who sent me kudos and lovely comments!! I came up with this idea mainly because I couldn't believe there weren't many Soulmate fics for Arthur and Eames and thought the only solution (obviously) was to write one of my own! That being said, I _never_ expected it to be more than one chapter, let alone 5!! 
> 
> So thank you again to everyone who's followed along, and I hope you have all enjoyed!


End file.
